V  '  ' 


Voitt  tfyt  x 


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*! 


Toftt  of  tljt  SRjiatrteir 


A  SERMON 

PREACHED  IN  TRINITY  CHURCH,  BOSTON, 


ON  SUNDAY,  SEPTEMBER  12,  1830; 


ON  OCCASION  OF  THE  DEATH  OF 


THE  LATE  RECTOR, 


THE  REVEREND 


JOHN  SYLVESTER  JOHN  GARDINER,  D.  D. 

BY 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  DOANE,  A.  M. 

ASSISTANT  MINISTER. 


PUBLISHED  AT  THE  REQUEST  OF  THE  CONGREGATION. 


BOSTON: 

SAMUEL  H.  PARKER. 


1830. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/voiceofdepartedsOOdoan 


B  , 


SERMON. 


HEBREWS,  XI,  4. 

HE,  BEING  DEAD,  YET  SPEAKETH. 


God  forbid  that  it  should  not  be  so !  God  forbid 
that  there  should  be  no  voice,  even  from  the  grave 
of  wisdom,  virtue,  piety,  to  cheer  and  guide  us  in  the 
path  they  trod !  God  forbid  that  there  should  be 
power  in  the  all-grasping  sepulchre,  to  shut  in,  with 
the  poor  perishable  body,  the  immortal  spirit  which 
informed  and  animated  it !  But  no,  it  is  not  so — 
thank  God  ! — it  is  not  so.  Jesus  has  been  made  in¬ 
carnate,  Jesus  has  died,  Jesus  has  risen  again — and 
even  the  grave,  the  grave  is  eloquent !  Precious, 
glorious,  triumphant  truth !  Socrates  hoped  for  it. 
Cicero  reasoned  of  it.  Paul,  standing  by  the  desert¬ 
ed  tomb  of  Jesus  Christ,  asserted  it: — “  now  is  Christ 
risen  from  the  dead,  and  become  the  first  fruits,” — 
the  earnest,  the  example,  the  forerunner — “of  them 
that  sleep.”  Be  of  good  cheer,  then,  Christian 
mourners !  “  Your  dead  men  shall  live.”  Shall,  do  I 

BURTON  HIST.  COLLECTION 
DETROIT 

EXCHANGE  DUPLICATE 


4 


say  ?  They  are  not  dead.  They  cannot  die.  “  God 
is  not  a  God  of  the  dead,  but  of  the  living — for  all 
live  to  him.”  They  live  to  God.  They  live  to 
themselves.  They  live  to  us — cheering  our  hearts 
by  the  remembered  music  of  their  voices,  guiding  our 
footsteps  by  the  lingering  light  of  their  example. 
The  stone,  rolled  from  the  sepulchre  by  power  di¬ 
vine,  is  rolled  away  forever.  The  grave  has  ceased 
to  be  a  prison,  for  its  doors  stand  open.  They  open 
upward.  It  is  the  way  to  heaven.  Nor  are  they 
closed  to  us.  They  open  to  our  ears  and  to  our 
hearts.  There  is  a  voice  that  issues  from  them,  as 
from  an  oracle  divine,  to  stir  our  inmost  souls.  It  is 
the  deep,  resistless  eloquence  of  our  beloved  and  lost. 
“  Being  dead,”  they  speak  to  us.  They  admonish 
us  that  life  is  short — and  bid  us  be  prepared  to  fol¬ 
low  them.  They  admonish  us  that  its  paths  are 
dark,  and  dubious,  and  slippery— and  bid  us  to  walk 
uprightly  and  firmly,  with  constant  watchfulness  and 
care.  They  admonish  us  that  its  responsibilities  are 
infinite,  and  awful — and  bid  us  look  beyond  our¬ 
selves  for  light  and  strength, for  mercy  and  forgiveness, 
They  admonish  us  that  its  issues  are  eternal,  irrevoc¬ 
able,  unchangeable — and  they  exhort  us,  as  we  aspire 
to  wear  the  glorious  “  crown  of  everlasting  life,” 
that  we  continue  44  faithful  unto  death.” 

It  is  on  such  a  summons,  Christian  brethren,  that 
we  are  gathered  here  to-day.  Our  spiritual  guide, 
our  friend  beloved,  our  venerated  father,  has  been 
taken  from  us.  He  has  gone  to  his  rest,  in  a  strange 
and  distant  land.  His  sepulchre,  by  a  mysterious 
dispensation  of  the  All-wise,  is  not  with  us.  The 
spot  which  should  have  been  moistened  by  our  tears, 


5 


and  hallowed  in  our  hearts,  was  decked  by  the  hands, 
and  consecrated  by  the  prayers  of  strangers.  Yet, 
from  that  distant,  solitary  grave,  there  comes  a  voice 
that  finds  a  pulse  in  all  our  bosoms.  It  is  not  lost 
amid  the  billows  of  the  dark  Atlantic.  It  is  not  spent 
upon  the  fury  of  careering  winds.  It  reaches,  it  per¬ 
vades,  it  melts  our  hearts.  To  us,  brethren  of  the 
congregation — to  you,  the  chosen  flock  of  all  his 
care  ;  to  me,  the  sharer  of  his  confidence  and  of  his  toil 
— the  tenant  of  that  tomb,  though  dead,  yet  speaks. 
He  speaks  to  us  of  himself — and  bids  us  sorrow  not 
for  him,  even  as  others  who  have  no  hope,  for  in  the 
grave  there  is  rest ;  rest  for  the  homesick  wanderer’s 
weary  feet,  rest  for  the  body,  racked  by  pain,  or  worn 
by  slow  disease,  rest  for  the  toil-spent  spirit  in  the 
bosom  of  its  God.  He  speaks  to  us  of  ourselves,  of 
our  present  duties,  of  our  future  hopes,  of  our  eternal 
destinies — and  bids  us  go,  right  onward,  in  the  path 
of  faith,  of  hope,  of  charity,  of  obedience,  of  patient 
submission  to  the  will  of  the  Almighty,  of  humble 
confidence  in  the  arrangements  of  the  All-merciful ; 
that,  through  the  atoning  merits  of  the  Saviour,  we 
may,  at  last,  receive  the  welcome  sentence,  44  Enter, 
good  and  faithful  servants,  into  the  joy  and  glory  of 
your  Lord  !”  Brethren,  let  not  these  solemn  admoni¬ 
tions,  consecrated  by  distance,  consecrated  by  sor¬ 
row,  consecrated  by  death,  be  addressed  to  you  in 
vain.  The  voice  of  him,  from  out  whose  grave  they 
come  to  you,  listened  to  so  often,  listened  to  with  so 
much  satisfaction,  can  never  speak  to  you  again. 
These  sacred  places,  which  have  known  him  so  long, 
which  have  known  him  so  well,  can  know  him  now 
no  more  forever..  Your  eyes,  accustomed  from  in- 


6 


fancy  to  behold  his  well  known  features,  or  calling  up, 
from  memory’s  pictured  treasures,  his  accustomed 
figure,  as  among  the  most  familiar  objects  of  your 
manhood’s  intercourse,  shall  see  his  face  no  more. 
Let  us  recall,  then,  while  the  time  permits,  the  fading 
traces  of  the  past.  Let  us  arrest,  while  yet  one 
echo  lingers,  the  instructions  of  that  once  eloquent 
tongue.  It  will  appeal  to  you  by  sympathies  which 
none  on  earth  can  claim.  It  will  awaken  in  your 
bosoms  memories  that  have  slept  perhaps  for  years. 
It  will  bring  back  the  venerable  forms  of  aged  pa¬ 
rents  ;  and  fair  visions  of  beloved  ones  that  faded  in 
their  full  blown  beauty,  as  the  rainbow  fades ;  and 
shadowy  images,  but  dimly  visible,  of  buds  of  inno¬ 
cence  and  loveliness,  that  were  but  half  disclosed  be¬ 
fore  the  tempest  shook  them  from  the  tree  of  life. 
But,  Brethren,  though  it  cost  “  some  natural  tears,” 
shun  not  the  magic  glass  which  memory  holds.  It 
is  a  holy  and  permitted  spell.  It  is  an  inspiration 
that  befits  the  time,  the  place,  the  persons,  the  oc¬ 
casion.  The  eye,  thus  practised,  will  turn  less  ea¬ 
gerly  to  gaze  upon  the  passing  pageantry  of  life — 
will  fix  a  keener,  steadier,  more  hopeful,  more  resolv¬ 
ed  contemplation  on  the  abiding  splendours  of  the 
excellent  glory.  The  heart,  thus  influenced,  will 
engage  with  less  devotion  in  the  feverish  strifes  of 
earth ;  will  hold  in  truer  and  more  chastened  estima¬ 
tion  the  pursuits  of  time  ;  and  seek  with  more  de¬ 
termined  purpose  to  be  fitted  for  that  high  and  holy 
place,  where,  when  the  final  trump  has  sounded,  we 
hope  forever  to  repair  the  void  which  death  has  now 
laid  open  in  our  aching  breasts. 

The  reverend  and  lamented  object  of  our  thoughts, 
— and,  if  he  and  we  had  not  been  Christians,  I  might 


7 


add  of  our  regrets, — though  a  long  life  of  honour  and 
happiness  and  usefulness  identified  him  with  this, 
his  favourite  city,  was  not  a  native  of  it.  His  ances¬ 
tors,  long  back,  respectable  farmers  of  Lincolnshire, 
in  England,  had  indeed  made  this  the  country  of 
their  adoption,  at  an  early  period  of  its  settlement. 
And  his  grandfather,  Sylvester  Gardiner,*  though  a 
native  of  Rhode  Island,  long  resident  in  Boston,  as  a 
physician,  in  eminent  and  extensive  practice  ;  and  his 
father,  John  Gardiner,  born  here,  might  naturally  in¬ 
duce  the  supposition  that  it  was  his  birth  place  also. 
It  was  however,  as  you  are  well  aware,  the  common 
practice,  among  such  as  could  afford  it,  anterior  to 
the  war  of  the  revolution,  to  send  their  sons  “home,” 
as  the  natural  expression  was,  to  receive  their  educa¬ 
tion.  For  this  purpose,  John  Gardiner  went,  at  an 
early  age,  to  England,  and  having  studied  law  at  the 
Inner  Temple,  and  been  admitted  to  the  bar  with 
great  prospect  of  success,  was  married  to  a  lady  of  a 
respectable  Welsh  family  of  the  name  of  Harris  ;  and 
their  eldest  son,  the  late  Rev.  John  Sylvester  John 
Gardiner,  D.  D.  was  thus  born,  in  the  month  of 
June,  as  I  am  led  to  believe,  in  the  year  1765,  at 
Haverford  (or,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  Harford) 
West,  in  South  Wales.  John  Gardiner  was  a  whig 
in  politics,  and  a  dissenter  in  religion  ;  and  finding 
these  circumstances  an  impediment  to  his  advance¬ 
ment  at  home,  and  having  received  the  honourable 
appointment  of  Attorney  General  of  the  island  of  St. 
Christopher,  removed  thither,  soon  after  the  birth  of 
his  son  ;  where,  he  continued  to  reside,  until  the  war 
between  the  Colonies  and  Great  Britain  ended. 


*See  Note  I. 


8 


From  the  West  Indies,  the  son  came,  at  five  years  of 
age,  and  about  the  year  1770,  to  the  grandfather,  then 
resident  here — and  having  remained  at  school  until  his 
eighth  or  ninth  year,  after  a  short  visit  to  his  father  at 
St.  Christopher’s,  was  sent  to  complete  his  studies  un¬ 
der  the  direction  of  that  eminent  scholar, and  extraordi¬ 
nary  disciplinarian,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  Parr. 
Placed  here,  within  the  reach  of  the  best  aliments  of  a 
profound  classical  education,  his  mental  growth  was 
rapid,  healthy,  vigorous ;  and  the  pupil  then,  and 
in  all  after  years,  approved  himself  well  worthy 
of  the  master.  Nor  was  the  school  at  Norwich  to 
him  an  intellectual  palcestra  merely.  “  The  elements 
were  so  mixed  in  him”  that,  while  his  mind  was 
wrestling  with  the  mighty  masters  of  philosophy  and 
of  the  lyre,  and  gathering  force  and  grace  from  the  con¬ 
tinual  struggle,  the  buoyant  spirit  of  his  youth,  and  his 
inherited  physical  powers,  made  him  foremost  in  all 
sports  of  strength  and  skill,  of  prompt  activity,  and 
of  enduring  patience — and,  while  the  foundation  was 
thus  laid  of  a  healthful  manhood,  and  deferred  old 
age,  the  firm  and  well-compacted  frame  became  the 
fair  expression  of  the  active  and  athletic  mind  that 
had  its  residence  within.  From  Dr.  Parr’s  school, 
the  subject  of  this  notice  returned  to  his  father,  in 
the  West  Indies,  and,  about  the  year  1783,  and  pro¬ 
bably  in  his  eighteenth  year,  came  with  him  to  Bos¬ 
ton  ;  thenceforward  to  be,  for  more  than  forty  years, 
his  happy  home.  In  compliance  with  the  wishes  of 
his  father,  his  attention  was  first  turned  to  the  study 
of  the  Law ;  which,  for  a  short  time,  he  pursued,  part¬ 
ly  with  his  father,  and  partly  in  the  office  of  the  late 
Judge  Tudor.  But,  his  inclination  leaning  to  the 


9 


sacred  office,  he  pursued,  subsequently,  with  his  fath¬ 
er’s  approbation,  the  study  of  Theology — and,  having 
officiated  for  some  time  as  lay-reader  at  Pownalboro’ 
in  Maine,  was  admitted  to  holy  orders  in  1787,  by 
the  Rt.  Rev.  Dr.  Provoost,  the  Bishop  of  New-York. 
His  first  labours  in  the  ministry  w  ere  in  the  parish  of 
St.  Helena,  Beaufort,  South  Carolina,  but  I  am  un¬ 
certain  of  how  great  duration.  The  Greene  Founda¬ 
tion,  for  the  support  of  a  constant  Assistant  Minister 
to  the  Rector  of  Trinity  Church,  established  in  1763, 
by  the  excellent  Thomas  Greene,  Esq.,  and  now 
grown  to  be  a  noble  monument  of  his  wise  and  pious 
generosity,  being  at  this  period  vacant,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Gardiner  was,  in  1792,  unanimously  elected 
Assistant  to  the  Incumbent,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Parker. — 
The  income  of  the  Foundation  being  then  inadequate 
to  his  support,  the  Assistant  Minister  added  to  his  la¬ 
bours  in  the  parish  the  arduous,  but  most  honourable, 
employment  of  a  teacher — first,  in  a  large  and  highly 
popular  classical  school,  and  then,  in  a  class  of  se¬ 
lect  pupils,  taught  at  his  own  house.  From  the  pe¬ 
riod  of  the  Revolution,  classical  learning  had  greatly 
declined.  The  teachers  were  themselves  imperfectly 
instructed.  The  schools  were  few,  and  poorly 
taught.  He  brought  to  the  great  work  stores  of 
learning,  an  experience  rich  and  ripe  in  the  best 
methods  of  instruction,  and  an  ardent  love  of  the 
pursuit.  His  school  soon  acquired  great  reputation. 
His  pupils  were  numerous.  They  entered  high  at 
the  University.  They  commended  to  others  the  in¬ 
struction  and  the  discipline  they  had  themselves  en¬ 
joyed.  From  the  establishment  of  his  school  the 
revival,  in  this  community,  of  classical  learning,  may 
2 


10 


be  dated.*  The  spontaneous  tribute  of  two  Univer¬ 
sities,  offering  to  the  scholar  of  Parr  their  academic 
honours — the  one  so  near  that  its  judgment  could  not 
be  uninformed,  the  other  so  remote  that  its  appro¬ 
bation  could  not  be  partial — were  the  immediate  and 
gratifying  testimonies  to  his  good  service  in  the 
cause  of  letters.  Their  living  and  enduring  monu¬ 
ment  stands  in  the  affectionate  remembrance  of  his 
still  surviving  pupils,  and  in  the  high  and  honourable 
stations  which  some  of  them  are  now  sustaining  in 
the  public  eye.  Upon  the  death  of  Dr.  Parker,  who, 
in  the  latter  part  of  his  most  valuable  life,  was  raised 
to  the  Episcopate,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gardiner,  was,  by 
unanimous  consent,  made  Rector,  and  inducted  to 
that  office,  on  the  fifteenth  of  April,  in  the  year  1 805. 
The  public  school  was  now  relinquished  for  the 
course  of  private  education.  But  the  office  which 
he  had  left  was,  at  his  request,  kept  vacant,  and  he 
himself  continued  to  discharge  alone  the  duties  of 
his  arduous  station ;  the  fund  being  left  to  increase, 
that  his  successor,  might  never  be  compelled  to  experi¬ 
ence  the  privations, or  to  endure  the  double  labour  which 
had  fallen  to  his  share.  With  what  acceptance  he  dis¬ 
charged  these  duties,  how  highly  his  services  were 
appreciated,  how  deep,  and  strong,  and  widely-spread 
was  the  conviction  of  his  talents,  his  attainments, 
and  his  virtues,  let  this  congregation,  honouring  him 
when  with  them,  sympathising  with  him  when  ab¬ 
sent,  lamenting  him  when  dead,  be  suffered  to  bear 
witness.  Or,  if  the  testimony  of  friends  be  partial, 
let  the  public  voice,  the  voice  of  all  who  were  ad¬ 
mitted  to  his  acquaintance,  the  respect  and  reverence 


*See  Note  II. 


11 


of  a  whole  community,  be  permitted  to  declare. — 
That  a  man,  holding  so  long  an  eminent  and  enviable 
office,  bearing  himself  in  all  its  duties  with  perfect 
fearlessness  and  independence  upon  person,  rank  or 
station,  expressing  always  with  the  utmost  frankness, 
and  defending  with  the  utmost  ardour,  sentiments  and 
claims  which  often  were  at  variance  with  the  convic¬ 
tions  of  those  with  whom  he  had  habitual  intercourse, 
should  leave  no  enemy  behind,  should  leave  no  one 
acquaintance  who  did  not  mourn  his  loss,  is  evidence 
to  all  mens’  minds,  that  cannot  be  disputed,  either 
of  singular  prudence  to  conciliate  esteem,  or  of  sin¬ 
gular  ability  and  virtue  to  command  it.  It  was  not 
till  our  friend  approached  his  grand  climacteric,  that 
his  physical  energies  began  to  fail — that  an  unwont¬ 
ed  cloud  was  seen  to  hang  upon  the  brow  that  had 
been  always  clear  and  radiant — that  a  weight,  as  of 
accumulated  years,  seemed  added  to  the  step  that  had 
been  ever  free  and  firm — and,  evidence  unquestion¬ 
able  to  all  who  knew  him,  that  he  himself  felt  the 
incipient  failure, — that  he  was  willing  to  share  with 
an  Assistant  the  labours  and  anxieties  of  his  great 
charge.  How  promptly  and  assiduously  he  still  con¬ 
tinued  to  perform  his  part — how,  till  the  last,  he 
cherished  the  fond  hope  of  rallying  again  his  wonted 
energies — how,  when  the  completion  of  this  second 
temple  seemed  to  form  a  crisis  in  our  condition,  he 
threw  himself,  feeble  as  he  was,  like  an  old  Roman 
soldier,  into  the  imminent  breach,  and  bore  trium¬ 
phantly  the  heat,  the  hazard,  and  the  honour  of  the 
day,  all  you  who  hear  me  know.  But  the  desperate 
struggle  was  unequal.  He  had  an  enemy  to  cope 
with,  who  could  sap  as  well  as  storm.  He  was 


12 


compelled  to  yield.  A  winter’s  respite  from  exertion 
was  submitted  to.  The  best  succours  of  the  heal¬ 
ing  art  were  put  in  requisition.  Still,  there  was  no 
relenting  of  the  insidious  malady.  As  a  last  resort, 
a  voyage  to  Europe  was  resolved  on — and  he  sailed, 
with  the  opening  spring,  with  our  best  prayers,  to 
speed  him  on  his  way,  and  bring  him  back  to  us  in 
health  and  joy.  But  the  God,  by  whom  all  prayers 
are  heard,  answers  them  in  his  own  wisdom,  and 
in  his  own  way.  He  arrived  at  Liverpool,  no 
better.  He  hastened  to  London  for  advice — and 
received  there,  from  kind  friends  whom  he  found, 
or  made,  every  solace  and  attention  which  his 
weakness  needed,  or  their  assiduity  could  yield. 
— From  London  he  was  sent  to  Harrowgate,  to  try 
its  mineral  waters.  But  God  did  not  design 
his  restoration  to  us,  and  the  healing  angel  could 
not  bless  the  wave.  In  vain  for  him,  in  vain  for  us, 
were  practised  skill,  or  foreign  climes,  or  friendly 
assiduities,  or  filial  piety,  or  conjugal  devotion.  His 
days  were  numbered.  His  last  sands  trembled  to 
their  fall.  His  lamp  of  life  was  flickering  to  go  out. 
The  malady  which  mined  in  secret,  reached  at  last 
the  seat  of  life.  There  was  no  strife,  no  struggle. 
One  by  one,  the  cords  were  sundered,  till  the  last  gave 
way.  Drop  by  drop,  the  vital  stream  ebbed  out, 
until  the  channel  was  left  dry.  On  the  28th  of  July, 
he  had  been  apparently  as  usual,  but  waking  with  a 
sensation  of  faintness,  sunk  from  that  time  grad¬ 
ually  away,  and,  at  the  hour  of  nine,  on  the  morning 
of  the  29th,  breathed  out,  without  a  struggle  or  a 
groan,  his  parting  spirit — and,  on  the  31st,  all  that 
was  mortal  of  our  friend,  was,  by  strange  hands,  con- 


13 


signed  to  a  strange  grave,  upon  a  strange  and  distant 
shore. 

Thus  have  I  sketched,  with  melancholy  hand,  the 
life,  decline,  and  death,  of  the  respected  Rector  of 
this  sorrowing  Church.  I  have  not  feared  that  you 
would  think  me  tedious,  for  love  is  curious  of  all  ac¬ 
cidents  and  circumstances  of  the  beloved  ;  and,  most 
of  all,  when  death  has  consecrated,  and  the  grave  is 
soon  to  set  its  seal  upon  them.  As,  then,  we  hasten  to 
catch  one  more  glimpse  of  the  familiar  face — as,  then, 
we  linger,  as  if  to  stay,  vain  hope  !  the  greedy  coffin’s 
fatal  clasp — as,  then,  kind  looks  and  gentle  words  and 
generous  actions  float  up  upon  the  tide  of  recollection, 
and  we  dwell  upon  them  with  a  fondness  that  keeps 
no  consciousness  of  time  or  outward  circumstance,  so 
let  us  now,  before  the  dear  remembrance  of  our  brother 
and  our  father  is  consigned  to  the  deep,  silent  grave 
of  our  affections,  recall,  as  faithful  memory  shall  sup¬ 
ply  them,  the  lineaments  and  features  which  stood  out 
in  bold  relief  upon  his  character ;  giving  their  form  and 
impress  to  the  community  in  which  he  moved,  making 
their  mark,  deep  and  indelible,  upon  the  living  ta¬ 
bles  of  our  hearts. 

The  striking  points  of  Dr.  Gardiner’s  character 
may  be  presented  in  a  threefold  light — moral ,  intel¬ 
lectual ,  and  religious.  In  what  remains  of  this  dis¬ 
course  he  shall  be  regarded  as  a  man,  a  scholar,  and 

a  CHRISTIAN  MINISTER. 

As  a  man,  the  moral  lineaments  of  our  friend  were 
strongly  marked.  W e  might  expect  this,  so  far  as  char¬ 
acter  is  inherited,  from  what  is  known  of  his  father, 
in  whom  great  intellectual  powers  seem  not  always 
to  have  been  governed  by  prudence,  or  restrained  by 


14 


a  due  regard  to  the  opinions  of  mankind.  In  the  son, 
whatever  might  be  thus  derived,  circumstances 
greatly  contributed  to  develope  and  confirm.  Sent 
from  home,  as  we  have  seen,  at  five  years  of  age,  he 
was  thrown  early  upon  his  own  resources,  and  led,  of 
necessity,  to  think  and  act  for  himself ;  while  the  dis¬ 
cipline  of  Parr’s  school,  a  discipline  of  almost  Spartan 
tendencies,  was  eminently  fitted  to  mature  and  fix 
what  nature  had  indicated,  and  accident  encouraged. 
Let  it  not  be  thought  that  this  was  a  misfortune.  It 
is  the  hard  wood  that  takes  and  holds  the  highest 
polish ;  and  from  the  fitful  play  of  light  and  shade 
upon  the  knots  and  curls  of  44  the  unwedgeable  and 
gnarled  oak,”  result  the  deepest  and  the  richest  co¬ 
lours,  and  the  tints  most  soft,  and  delicate.  The 
mind  which  yields  to  all  impressions  can  retain  none. 
It  is  the  stout  and  manly  spirit  that  is  great  to  endure, 
and  to  achieve.  And  it  is  precisely  upon  such  a  tem¬ 
perament,  that  high  literary  cultivation,  and  the  influ¬ 
ences  of  our  holy  religion,  produce  their  finest  and 
most  beautiful  results.  There  was  in  Dr.  Gardiner, 
as  illustrative  of  what  I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
great  directness  of  purpose,  great  plainness  of  speech, 
and  great  boldness  of  action.  He  said  what  he 
thought  pertinent  to  the  occcasion,  he  pursued  what 
he  thought  right,  without  regard  to  opinions  or  to 
consequences.  He  cared  little  for  the  external  dis¬ 
tinctions  of  the  world,  the  mere  trappings  of  circum¬ 
stance  and  accident ;  having  reference  to  the  man, 
rather  than  to  his  condition,  and  looking  for  the 
true  mint-mark  in  the  endowments  of  the  mind, 
and  the  qualities  of  the  heart.  A  sound  con¬ 
stitution,  and  long  uninterrupted  health,  affording 


15 


him  but  slight  experience  of  pain,  together  with  a 
constant  disposition  to  look  upon  the  bright  side  of 
every  thing,  allowed  him  but  little  sympathy  with 
those  who  whine  beneath  the  stroke  of  sorrow,  or 
murmur  at  the  ways  of  providence.  Yet,  to  the  claims 
of  real  suffering,  his  ear,  and  heart,  and  hand  were 
ever  open ;  and  while  others  gave  good  words,  his  was 
the  liberal  alms,  or  the  efficient  service.  His  par¬ 
tialities  were  decided,  consistent,  permanent.  So 
too,  it  may  be  said,  were  his  dislikes.  They 
were,  at  least,  not  disguised.  Few  men,  indeed, 
have  loved  their  friends  better,  or  attached  them  to 
themselves  by  stronger  ties.  Of  few  such  tempers  can 
it  be  said,  that  like  his,  they  made  no  enemies.  There 
never  lived  a  man  more  faithful  in  the  discharge  of 
what  he  deemed  his  duty.  He  never  rested  with  the 
sense  of  an  obligation  unfulfilled.  His  attention  to 
business,  whether  public  or  private,  was  strict  and 
scrupulous — never  slighting  an  engagement,  never 
procrastinating,  never  failing  in  punctuality.  He 
was  as  guiltless  as  a  child  of  what  the  world  calls 
policy — and,  could  he  have  been  tempted  to  engage 
in  it,  like  a  child,  he  would  have  betrayed  himself. 
The  love  of  money  was  not  in  all  his  thoughts.  He 
only  used  it  because  he  must ;  and,  with  the  necessity 
for  it,  would  gladly  have  been  rid  of  it.  He  was 
not  born  to  affluence,  but  to  something  better — a 
cheerful  and  contented  spirit,  that  could  make  a  sun¬ 
shine  in  the  shadiest  place — and,  having  always,  by 
God’s  blessing  on  his  labours,  possessed  a  competence, 
he  lived,  till  disease  eat  out  the  heart  of  his  enjoy¬ 
ments,  one  of  the  happiest  of  men.  His  fireside  was 
his  throne.  His  home  his  palace.  Here  he  delight- 


16 


ed  to  feel  himself  a  king ;  and,  in  the  full  exercise  of 
a  most  free  and  generous  hospitality,  to  make  others 
feel  it  too.  His  social  qualities  were  indeed  pre¬ 
eminent.  And  his  ingenuous  frankness,  his  never- 
ebbing  cheerfulness,  his  unostentatious  kindness,  had 
knit  him  in  bonds,  which  death  cannot  avail  to  sever, 
to  all  with  whom  his  private  or  official  intercourse 
was  held.  How  shall  we  miss,  brethren,  from 
all  our  paths  of  life  the  steady  lustre  of  such  virtues  ! 
What  must  the  darkness  be,  of  the  domestic  hearth, 
where  such  a  light  is  quenched  ! 

To  his  scholarship,  I  have  before  alluded,  and  to 
his  noble  use  of  it.  In  that  respect  he  was  equalled 
by  few  among  us,  excelled  by  none.  It  was  deep, 
accurate,  comprehensive,  tasteful.  It  was  not  a  mere 
verbal  knowledge,  laid  up  to  rust  in  the  storehouse 
of  his  memory.  He  was  imbued  with  it.  It  was  in¬ 
stinct  through  all  his  thoughts,  and  all  his  conversa¬ 
tion.  It  gave  vigour  and  grasp  to  his  intellect. — 
It  elevated  and  refined  his  taste.  It  animated  and 
polished  his  style.  His  favourite  studies  were  the 
Greek,  Latin,  and  English  Classics — though  he  was 
not  ignorant  of  Italian  and  of  French.  His  chosen 
authors,  Homer,  the  Augustan  poets,  Milton,  and  the 
English  writers  of  Elizabeth  and  Anne,  were  ever 
in  his  hands.  He  had  read  them  daily,  through  every 
year  of  his  long  life,  till  they  had  become  incorpora¬ 
ted,  as  it  were,  with  the  very  substance  of  his  mind. 
And,  in  him,  these  studies  had  completely  verified 
the  beautiful  eulogium  of  Cicero — as  they  had  been 
the  aliment  of  his  youth,  and  the  delight  of  his  man¬ 
hood,  so  they  proved  to  him  a  solace  never  failing  in 
his  sickness  and  old  age.f 


t  See  Note  III. 


17 


As  a  Christian  minister,  the  course  of  our  de¬ 
parted  friend  has  had  but  few  parallels.  For  nearly 
forty  years  did  he  continue  acceptably  to  min¬ 
ister  to  this  parish  in  holy  things.  He  saw  a  whole 
generation  pass  from  these  sacred  walls  before  him. 
He  had  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  the  fathers,  and  he 
still  lived,  fortunate  old  man!  to  retain  the  respect, 
the  gratitude,  the  affection  of  the  sons.  Dr.  Gardiner 
was  a  thoroughly  read  divine.  “  There  were  giants 
upon  the  earth,5’  in  the  days  when  his  principles  were 
adopted,  and  his  habits  of  study  and  of  thought  were 
formed  ;  and,  in  the  contemplation  of  their  sinewy 
intellectual  stature,  he  had  enlarged,  invigorated,  and 
matured  his  own.  He  had  lived  in  the  intercourse 
of  minds  like  Barrow’s,  Taylor’s,  South’s,  and  Hors¬ 
ley’s,  till  he  had  caught  the  tone  and  temper  of  their 
mighty  and  undaunted  spirits.  He  was  a  true  Pro¬ 
testant  Christian  of  the  Church  of  England.  From 
“  the  Bible,  and  the  Bible  only,”  he  drew,  like  the 
illustrious  Chillingworth,  the  whole  of  his  religion. 
Applying  to  the  sacred  volume  the  entire  force  of  his 
vigorous  mind,  strengthened  and  made  acute  by  the 
soundest  learning,  and  most  thorough  discipline,  he 
found  there  the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity  of  persons 
in  the  undivided  and  eternal  Godhead,  the  true  and 
proper  divinity  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  atonement 
purchased  for  sinful  man,  by  the  effusion  of  his  blood ; 
and,  finding  them  there,  he  proclaimed  them  with  all 
boldness,  and  defended  them  with  a  plainness  which 
none  could  misunderstand,  and  with  a  firmness  which 
allowed  no  compromise.  Founded  on  these  great 
principles  of  the  Catholic  faith,  the  superstructure  of 
his  belief  was  made  complete  in  all  their  cognate 
3 


18 


and  consequential  doctrines.  And,  if  he  insisted 
less  frequently  than  others  upon  man’s  deep  cor¬ 
ruption,  and  utter  inability  to  save  himself,  upon 
the  nature  and  necessity  of  justifying  faith,  upon  the 
offices  and  operations  of  the  renewing  and  sanctifying 
Spirit,  it  was  because  he  knew  and  feared  the  abu¬ 
ses  of  these  doctrines — because,  aware  how  often  fa¬ 
naticism  had  found  its  watch-word  in  the  perversion 
of  the  terms  which  teach  them,  he  dreaded,  lest,  in 
him,  the  havoc  which  has  thus  been  made  of  truth 
and  charity,  of  virtue  and  good  order,  should  find  en¬ 
couragement  or  countenance.  The  grounds  of  man’s 
belief  once  settled,  he  was  accustomed  to  regard  it 
as  a  sacred  subject  between  the  heart  and  God ; 
and  his  practice  was  from  that  time  to  go  on,  not 
laying  again  the  strong  foundations,  but  building  up, 
in  all  its  solid  strength,  its  just  proportions,  and  its 
chastened  beauty,  the  fair  and  glorious  fabric  of  the 
Christian  life.  His  preaching,  like  his  religion,  was 
thus  eminently  practical.  The  motto  for  his  ser¬ 
mons  might  have  been  the  precept  of  the  Saviour — 
by  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them .  He  enforced,  with 
eloquent  earnestness,  the  relative  and  social  duties. 
He  proclaimed,  as  if  his  spirit  loved  it,  the  angel’s 
message,  of  good  will  and  peace.  He  dwelt  with 
delight  upon  the  beauty  and  desirableness  of  virtue. 
He  urged  continually  the  Saviour’s  perfect  example. 
He  pointed  ever  to  the  rewards  laid  up  for  the  obe¬ 
dient  and  faithful,  in  the  eternal  kingdom;  and  sought 
rather  to  win,  than  to  alarm,  his  hearers  to  their  pur¬ 
suit  and  attainment — 

u  And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries, 

“  To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
u  He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
u  Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way.” 


19 


Nor  was  he  less  decided  and  consistent  as  a 
Churchman,  than  as  a  Protestant  Christian.  Hay¬ 
ing  planted  his  foot  upon  the  ancient  Apostolic  plat¬ 
form,  not  by  virtue  of  his  ancestral  example,  but  from 
his  own  conviction,  he  kept  it  ever  firm  and  steadfast. 
The  doctrine,  the  discipline,  and  the  worship  of  the 
Church  of  England,  had  his  intelligent  preference,  his 
affectionate  attachment,  his  able  and  unshrinking  ad¬ 
vocacy.  And  so  tenacious  was  he  of  the  old  paths, 
in  which  our  fathers  walked  and  found  rest  to  their 
souls,  that  he  was  sometimes  tempted  to  fear  as  in¬ 
novations,  and  to  reject,  from  a  most  pardonable  ab¬ 
horrence  of  error,  heresy,  and  schism,  practices  and 
institutions,  which  were  either  revived  from  primitive 
usage,  or  legitimate  conclusions  from  primitive  prin¬ 
ciples.  Thus  firm,  decided,  and  uncompromising, 
in  his  own  principles  and  convictions,  he  extended 
to  others  the  most  liberal  charity.  He  judged  no 
man.  He  condemned  no  man.  He  left  all  to  their 
own  conclusions ;  for  he  knew  that  all,  with  him, 
must  stand  before  a  common  Master,  an  unerring 
Judge.  Nor  was  his  that  spurious  virtue,  which  calls 
itself  liberality,  while  it  is,  in  truth,  indifference — but 
the  allowance  of  an  enlarged  and  elevated  mind  for 
human  weakness,  or  for  conscientious  disagreement 
— the  true  Christian  charity,  which  not  only  does, 
and  says,  but  “  thinks  no  evil.”  Extending  to  his  re¬ 
ligious  views  the  cheerful  radiance  of  his  temper,  our 
friend  was  free  from  gloom,  moroseness,  and  severity. 
He  felt  that  God  had  given  us  all  things  richly  to 
enjoy,  and  knew  that  the  happiest  innocent  heart — 
and  without  innocence  there  is  no  happiness — was 
the  most  acceptable  in  His  sight.  Sincere,  and  un- 


20 


ostentatious,  as  he  was  cheerful,  in  his  views  of  pre¬ 
sent  duty,  and  of  future  destiny,  if  there  was  one 
thing  which  he  hated  in  others,  it  was  hypocrisy  and 
cant ;  and  upon  this  subject,  it  was  his  habit  to  speak 
in  terms  of  unmeasured,  but  surely  not  of  unmerited, 
reprobation.  Not  always  proof  against  the  assaults 
of  small  vexations,  he  reserved  his  fortitude  for  occa¬ 
sions  worthy  of  its  exercise, and  endured  great  evils  with 
a  most  magnanimous  and  noble  resignation.  A  pain¬ 
ful  and  distressing  malady  embittered  and  harassed 
his  latest  days.  But,  though  the  man  felt  keenly, 
the  Christian  triumphed.  Looking  through  the  vista 
of  the  grave,  to  Jesus  his  compassionate  Redeemer, 
he  saw  not  its  darkness  nor  its  terrors,  for  the  glory 
that  was  revealed.  He  never  faltered,  he  never 
shrunk ;  but,  waiting  with  composure,  till  the  time  of 
his  great  change  should  come,  fell  tranquilly  asleep. 
Of  the  public  performances  of  our  friend,  or  of  his 
public  character,  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  much,  in 
this  congregation,  or  in  this  community.  Their  tes¬ 
timony  is  on  record  in  all  hearts.  This  noble  edi¬ 
fice  is  their  enduring  monument.  The  members  of 
this  large  and  influential  parish  are  living  witnesses. 
The  public  voice  is  an  unbribed,  impartial,  and  abid¬ 
ing  arbiter.  How  correctly,  how  beautifully,  how 
powerfully,  how  affectingly,  he  performed  the  various 
admirable  services  of  the  church,  I  need  not  say. 
There  was  not,  by  the  consent  of  all  who  ever  heard 
him,  in  his  day  of  glory,  his  equal  in  America.  His 
sermons,  always  sensible,  always  practical,  beautiful 
in  their  conception,  finished  in  their  execution,  grace¬ 
ful  and  forcible  in  their  delivery,  rendered  him  at  all 
times  an  acceptable  and  useful  preacher.  Promi- 


21 


nent  for  years  in  the  legislative  councils  of  the 
church,  he  was,  by  confession  of  all,  the  chief  pres¬ 
byter  of  the  diocese.  And,  if  he  never  attained  to  the 
higher  station  of  the  Episcopate,  it  was  because  he 
never  aspired  to  it.  In  the  discharge  of  all  the  du¬ 
ties  of  his  office,  he  was,  beyond  all  men  that  ever  I 
have  known,  most  scrupulous.  For  years  he  was 
scarcely  ever  absent  from  his  pulpit  on  the  sacred 
day.  To  the  last  moment  of  his  ability,  and,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  my  brethren,  long  beyond  it,  he 
continued  to  insist,  against  my  most  sincere  and  ear¬ 
nest  protestations,  on  discharging  his  portion  of  the 
public  duty;  and  the  painful  conviction,  that  he  could 
be  no  longer  useful,  was  among  the  strong  consider¬ 
ations  that  drove  him  from  his  home,  to  seek  for 
health,  in  a  far-distant  land,  and  find  a  sepulchre. 

Brethren,  if  I  had  been  speaking  to  you  of  one 
whose  name  you  had  never  heard  before,  have  I  not 
said  more  than  enough  to  convince  your  understand¬ 
ings  that  he  was  a  great  man,  and  to  fill  your  hearts 
with  the  satisfaction,  far  more  endearing,  far  more 
enduring,  that  he  was  also  a  good  man  ?  How  im¬ 
perfect,  how  utterly  inadequate  must  I  feel  that  my 
descriptions  are,  when  I  remember,  that,  for  forty 
years,  he  has  continued  to  be  your  guide,  your  coun¬ 
sellor,  your  friend — that,  having  received  yourselves 
from  him  the  washing  of  the  wave  of  baptism,  you 
have  brought  your  children  to  him,  to  receive 
its  mystic  seal — that  your  young  have  caught  from 
his  lips  the  accents  of  their  first  instructions  in  the 
knowledge  that  maketh  wise  unto  salvation — that 
your  sick  have  received  from  his  hands  the  last  con¬ 
solations  of  our  most  holy  faith — that  your  dead  have 


22 


gone  down  to  the  grave  beneath  his  solemn  prayers ! 
Yes,  brethren  of  the  congregation,  it  is  all  too  true. 
The  stroke  of  an  afflictive  providence  has  been  brought 
home  to  us;  and  we  are  all  gathered  here  before 
God,  our  altars  clad  in  these  habiliments  of  woe,  our 
eyes  suffused,  our  hearts  oppressed  with  grief,  one 
family  of  Christian  mourners.  Ah,  yes !  and  there  is 
another  circle,  to  which  that  providence  comes  still 
more  nearly  home.  Of  that  bereaved  family,  I  will 
not,  for  I  cannot,  speak.  There  is  a  consecration  in 
such  sorrow,  that  repels  the  approach  even  of  the 
most  tender  sympathy.  There  is  but  one — the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Comforter — that  can  fitly  minister  to 
hearts  so  bruised,  and  broken.  But,  though  I  may 
not  speak  to  them,  in  their  bereavement,  I  will  pour 
my  prayers  out  for  them — that  they  may  be  brought 
together  again  in  God’s  good  time  in  peace  and  safe¬ 
ty — that  they  may  be  all  restored  to  the  arms  of 
their  friends,  and  the  bosom  of  the  Church — and  dwell 
together  beneath  the  protecting  shadow  of  the  widow’s 
and  the  orphan’s  God — that  in  all  things  He  may 
guide,  protect  and  bless  them — and  that,  in  the  multi¬ 
tude  of  the  sorrows  that  they  have  in  their  hearts, 
His  comforts  may  refresh  their  souls ! 

Brethren  of  the  congregation,  the  time  admonishes 
us,  that  we  must  leave  our  friend,  our  brother,  and 
our  father,  in  his  distant  lonely  grave.  Wherever  we 
go,  let  the  voice  of  him,  who,  “  being  dead,  yet 
speaketh,”  linger  in  our  ears.  Let  us  hear  it  in  the 
paths  he  trod — and  it  shall  animate  us  to  the  prompt, 
faithful,  punctilious  discharge  of  all  our  duties.  Let 
us  hear  it  in  the  services  in  which  he  delighted — 
and  it  will  quicken  our  piety,  and  elevate  our  devo- 


23 


tion.  Let  us  hear  it  from  the  altar  which  he  served 
— and  it  will  influence  us  generously  to  support,  ear¬ 
nestly  to  defend,  constantly  to  honour  it.  Let  us 
hear  it  in  the  Church,  in  which,  like  a  true  soldier  of 
Christ  Jesus,  he  stood  bravely  to  the  last,  and  would 
have  gladly  died — and  it  will  encourage  us  to  wait 
patiently  in  its  holy  faith,  its  sacred  worship,  its  ce¬ 
lestial  communion,  till  the  voice  of  God  shall  call  us 
to  depart.  Let  us  hear  it  in  the  solemn,  silent 
grave — and  it  shall  cheer  us  with  the  blessed,  com¬ 
fortable  assurance,  that,  if  we  live  to  Jesus,  we  shall 
also  sleep  with  him,  and  pass,  for  his  most  precious 
merits  “  through  the  grave  and  gate  of  death, ”to  our 
triumphant  resurrection.  Which,  that  we  may  all 
attain,  and,  at  the  last,  be  all  united,  teachers  and 
taught,  to  that  rejoicing  throng,  which  stands  with 
palms,  and  crowns,  and  ceaseless  praise  before  the 
throne  of  heaven,  may  God  Almighty,  in  his  mercy, 
grant ;  and  to  the  blessed  Three  in  One,  immutable, 
immortal,  undivided,  indivisible,  be  ascribed  thanks¬ 
giving,  glory,  honour,  might,  dominion,  praise,  now 
and  forever  more  !  Amen. 


, 


' 


■ 


NOTES 


i. 

Dr.  Sylvester  Gardiner,  born,  in  1717,  in  Narraganset,  R.  I.  was  among 
the  most  distinguished  in  his  profession  of  the  day  in  which  he  lived. — 
Having  spent  eight  years  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  best  advantages  which 
England  and  France  afforded,  he  returned  to  Boston  a  most  accomplished 
surgeon  and  physician.  He  not  only  practised  successfully,  but  promoted 
the  knowledge  of  the  healing  art,  by  reading  lectures,  illustrated  by  ana¬ 
tomical  preparations.  By  these  means,  and  by  his  success  in  a  large  es¬ 
tablishment  for  the  importation  and  sale  of  drugs,  he  acquired  an  immense 
estate,  a  considerable  portion  of  which  he  vested  in  uncultivated  lands 
in  Maine,  upon  which  he  founded  the  now  flourishing  town  of  Gardiner. 
He  lived  in  great  splendour,  with  a  most  generous  hospitality  ;  and  was  a 
decided  and  munificent  supporter  of  the  Church  of  England.  Adhering 
to  the  government  of  the  mother  country,  in  the  struggle  of  the  Revolu¬ 
tion,  his  property  was  confiscated,  and  he  was  reduced  to  comparative 
poverty.  When  the  British  army  left  Boston,  he  went  to  England  : 
where,  in  a  memorial  to  Parliament  for  indemnification  for  the  loss  of  his 
property,  he  showed  an  amount  of  48,000Z.  Returning  to  this  country, 
in  1786,  he  died,  at  Newport,  R.  I.,  aged  69  years  ;  leaving  a  name  dis¬ 
tinguished  by  strict  integrity,  extensive  benevolence,  and  exemplary 
piety. 

JohnGardiner  was  his  eldest  son — but, from  a  dislike  of  his  principles,  both 
in  politics  and  religion,  his  father,  by  will,  settled  the  greater  portion  of 
his  estate  upon  his  sister’s  son,  Robert  Hallowell,  now  Robert  Hallowell 
Gardiner,  Esq.  of  Gardiner,  in  Maine.  The  forfeited  property  in  Maine,  it 
should  be  added,  was  chiefly  recovered  by  the  heirs,  in  consequence  of 
some  informality  in  the  legal  process  of  the  Attorney  General.  At  the 
close  of  the  American  War,  the  principles  of  which  he  had  always  openly 
and  warmly  ’defended,  even  while  holding  office  under  the  Crown,  he 
came  from  St.  Christopher’s  to  Boston  :  where,  for  a  time,  he  practised 
law  ;  but,  having  settled  afterwards  upon  an  estate  on  the  Kennebec  Riv¬ 
er,  was  drowned,  on  his  passage  to  Boston,  in  1793. 

John  Sylvester  John  Gardiner  (so  named,  it  is  believed,  from  a  fancyof  his 
father,  to  unite  in  him,  his  own  name  with  those  of  his  paternal  and  ma¬ 
ternal  grandfathers,)  was  first  at  school,  in  Boston,  under  the  famous 
Master  Lovell.  He  was  then  sent  to  England  ;  and  remained  with  Dr. 
Parr  from  September,  1776,  till  December,  1782.  He  was  ordained  Dea- 


20 


con  in  St.  Paul’s  Church,  New-York,  October  18,  1787  ;  and  Priest,  De¬ 
cember  4,  1791,  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Dr.  Provoost.  He  received  the  honorary 
degree  of  A.  M.  from  Harvard  University,  in  1803 — and  his  diploma  as 
D.  D.  from  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  bears  date,  July  30,  1813.— — 
He  was  married,  Sept.  29,  1794,  to  Mary  Howard,  who  survives  his  loss  ; 
and  has  left  one  son,  William  Howard,  and  two  daughters,  Mary  Louisa, 
and  Elizabeth.  Two  children,  Charles  Cotesworth,  and  Mary  Allen,  died 
young. — Dr.  Gardiner  was  accompanied  to  England  by  his  wife  and  eldest 
daughter  ;  whose  mournful  lot  it  was  to  solace  his  dying  moments,  and 
honour  his  last  obsequies. 

II. 

Of  Dr.  Gardiner’s  school,  in  its  effect  upon  the  classical  learning  of  the 
day,  it  is  not  easy  to  speak  too  highly.  His  system,  both  of  instruction 
and  discipline,  was  formed,  in  most  respects,  on  the  model  of  Dr.  Parr. — 
He  taught  the  languages  thoroughly,  and — what  had  scarcely  been  at¬ 
tempted  here  before — drilled  them  well  in  Latin  and  Greek  prosody. — 
While  his  exegesis  of  the  classics  was  strictly,  and  critically  accurate,  his 
fine  taste  led  him  continually  to  develope,  and  to  dwell  upon,  their  latent 
beauties.  Nor,  in  the  formation  of  the  intellectual,  did  he  neglect  the 
physical,  or  moral,  man.  He  encouraged  athletic  sports,  and,  on  rare  oc¬ 
casions,  and,  as  special  marks  ofhis  approbation,  would  take  part  in  them 
himself.  Idleness  he  held  in  utter  contempt.  His  maxim  was,  to  work 
when  they  worked ,  and  to  play  when  they  played.  Cowardice,  mean¬ 
ness,  tale-telling,  bullying,  were  never  tolerated.  Manliness  and  inde¬ 
pendence  of  character  were  encouraged  by  precept  and  example.  Though 
his  discipline  was  very  severe,  his  boys  all  loved  him.  And  such  was  his 
ascendancy  over  them,  that  while,  at  times,  he  permitted  an  almost  sa- 
turnalian  freedom,  he  always  held  them  at  the  controul  of  a  look.  For 
the  sportiveness  of  youth,  he  allowed  wide  range,  but  never  overlooked 
omissions  or  deficiencies  of  duty. 

III. 

Among  the  circumstances  of  Dr.  Gardiner’s  literary  life,  his  connexion 
with  the  Anthology  Club,  may  be  singled  out,  as  most  interesting,  and 
most  important  in  its  results.  The  Club,  though  projected  by  the  late 
Rev.  Mr.  Emerson,  was  formed  at  Dr.  Gardiner’s  house  ;  and  he  contin¬ 
ued  to  be  its  President,  and,  as  an  old  member  of  it  recently  expressed 
himself,  “  its  very  life  and  soul,”  from  its  foundation,  in  1805,  to  his  re¬ 
tirement  from  the  Club  in  1811  ;  when  he  was  succeeded  by  President 
Kirkland,  six  months  before  its  dissolution.  By  this  Club,  the  "  Monthly 
Anthology  and  Boston  Review,”  was  conducted — a  work  which  was,  at 
its  time,  the  ablest  periodical  of  literature  in  the  United  States,  and  as¬ 
sisted  greatly  in  elevating  the  standard  of  letters  in  this  country.  Indeed, 
the  origin  of  the  North  American  Review  may  be  remotely  traced  to  it. — 
But  the  great  glory  of  the  Anthology  Club  consists  in  its  having  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  Athenaeum.  Among  the  objects  of  the  Club  was  a  read¬ 
ing-room  for  the  use  of  the  members.  This  was  first  put  in  execution  at  a 


meeting  held,  October  23, 1805,  at  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gardiner’s  ;  he  himself  set¬ 
ting  the  example,  by  the  donation  of  a  large  number  of  volumes  of  the 
“Gentleman’s  Magazine.”  By  degrees,  the  plan  was  enlarged  ;  the 
property  of  the  books  was  vested  in  trustees,  for  the  use  of  the  members, 
and  other  subscribers;  the  name  was  changed;  and,  from  this  humble  be¬ 
ginning,  originated  the  noble  institution  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum,  now 
numbering  25,000  volumes. 


J.  H.  Eastburn,  Printer. 


